Lucky Too
by thisislandgirl
Summary: NW Slash Even Grissom hadn’t been aware of the song he’d belted out to try and keep his sanity, to try and catch someone’s attention when he thought he was about to be rescued, the last true touch of humanity he had before he’d been introduced to hell


**Lucky Too**

**Fandom/Pairing: **CSI- Nick/Warrick

**Rating: **PG-13

**Prompt: **#27- Unstable

**Requested by: **abe16kidbosco

**Warning: **Post GD Nick, implied slash, violence, language

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them, or the song.

**Summary: **But even Grissom hadn't been aware of the song he'd belted out to try and keep his sanity, to try and catch someone's attention when he thought he was about to be rescued, the last true touch of humanity he had before he'd been introduced to hell.

* * *

**­Lucky Too**

* * *

_It was Christmas in Las Vegas, when the locals take the town  
Theresa hit a streak and laid her waitress' apron down_

He knew it was going to be a bad night when those were the first words he heard on scene. It was amazing how just the sound of that song, or even a few words from the lyrics, could freeze his blood in his veins. He tried not to cringe but he couldn't really help it. Maybe no one noticed. He decided to keep walking into the bar just to fly low on everyone's radar. He'd seen the look Brass and Warrick had given him.

It had seemed like such a simple night. A week before Christmas and things were blessedly slow at the lab. He and Warrick were lounging in the break room when Grissom had given them the assignment. A 419 at one of the smaller, local bars. 'An open and closed case,' Grissom had told them. A fight between three men. One was dead and two had blood on their hands. They just needed to go collect the evidence. Nice and simple, he'd thought. Until they got near the bar.

No one knew about _the _song. He'd found that out by accident. He knew his every move had been captured and broadcast to the lab, but they didn't have sound. They never knew what he said. Warrick even admitted to trying to read his lips, but confessed that he had failed terribly. As had everyone else, except for Grissom. But even Grissom hadn't been aware of the song he'd belted out to try and keep his sanity, to try and catch someone's attention when he thought he was about to be rescued, the last true touch of humanity he had before he'd been introduced to hell. So he'd decided to keep that little bit of information to himself, there was no need to add something else to their list of worries about him. His friends were already walking on eggshells around him, giving him the sideways glances full of worry when they thought he wasn't paying attention. But they should have known by now he was always paying attention.

He decided he could keep it cool, keep his last secret about his imprisonment under wraps. The song lasted almost four minutes, he'd spent over 20 hours underground. He could handle this. So he set his kit down on the floor and started taking pictures. Keep focused on the work, he told himself. But somehow that song weaseled its way into his head and he soon found himself singing along in his mind.

_She'd been playin' penny poker over at the ol' Gold Spike  
She won at Texas Hold'em, and again at Let It Ride  
Over on Fremont Street, six bits won her a car  
So she rode it up the Strip where the flashy hotels are  
First she hit a royal -- not a dirty one this time  
Then she drew four deuces -- and then five wilds_

"Fuck," he whispered, feeling tears suddenly stinging his eyes. Angrily he swiped a gloved hand across his face, hoping to make it look like he was wiping away sweat instead of tears.

* * *

Warrick had been on constant watch of his partner since he'd returned to work five months ago. And he'd seen almost every reaction possible from him, anger to sorrow, guilt to satisfaction. But he knew that even though Nick had been on an even keel for the passed month, that little ticking time bomb inside the man was due to explode. Nick had been calm, almost happy the entire night, until they'd gotten to the scene. That's when he'd seen the cloud pass over his face.

As he stopped to talk with Brass, he'd seen Nick tense up in the doorway. For a moment he thought the scene might have been a little more gruesome than they'd thought. But Brass quickly assured him that it was nothing, a simple stab wound. Little did Jim know that that little piece of information worried him more than it did placate him. And for a moment Nick just stood there as if he were frozen, unable to move. The rookie cop posted at the door cast them a worried glance and he and Jim were just about to see what the problem was when Nick squared his shoulders and strode, if a bit shakily, into the barroom.

He'd decided to give Nick his space, let him collect himself and do what he needed to do, for a few minutes. But when he and Brass entered it was as if nothing had ever happened. Nick was crouching by the body snapping pictures. And if it wasn't for the slight tremor in Nick's hands and the tense set to his shoulders, he would have thought he'd imagined the hesitation he'd witnessed.

Warrick set his kit down on the ground next to the discarded bloody knife, getting ready to process it. He cast one last glance over at Nick, making sure he was okay before he started. He was just pulling out his camera when the song playing on the speakers suddenly restarted. Brow furrowing, he looked up at Brass. "What's with the music?"

"Oh, that? Damn things been playing the same song since we got here. That was half an hour ago." Jim just shrugged it off with a chuckle.

But Nick couldn't. He'd been so close to making it through the song without breaking down only to learn that it would keep repeating. He growled low in his throat, realizing too late that it was audible and not in his head as he had hoped. Immediately he felt two gazes on his back, but he ignored them. It was best to just shut everything out like he'd done before. Cold, unfeeling, professional. Nothing could penetrate those masks. Putting his camera back up to his face, he started clicking away at the bloody shoe print.

Warrick jerked his head around when he heard Nick growl. He'd heard Nick growl before, in ecstasy and in frustration, but that feral sound belonged in neither category. It was almost … desperate like the sound a caged animal would make when pushed to the limits. He just tossed a warning glance at Brass. Eggshells, remember? No, 'Hey, Nick. You okay?'. No, they learned quickly that just set him off. If they played it down it delayed the explosion and sometimes made it easier to tame.

He watched for a few more seconds just to assure himself that everything was cool. The only thing he saw however was the look of determination and concentration melt away. It was like he could physically see the walls go up around Nick. His shoulders squared, his jaw tensed, his eyes squinted the tiniest bit. So they were back to this again, were they? Nick hadn't put up this shield in two months, hadn't given off the 'I don't give a shit about anything' attitude, hadn't ignored them when they tried to reach out to him like he was doing now.

"Hey, Nick." Warrick called out. He wasn't going to ask the dreaded question, he was going to fumble around for conversation, ask questions about the scene until he and Nick were face to face and he could see in those coffee brown depths what was truly bothering the man. But his plan failed, miserably, as Nick ignored him. Giving a shrug of his shoulders to Brass, he turned back to processing the knife.

* * *

Number 13. Lucky or unlucky, it was the thirteenth time Bob Neuwirth's voice had come over the speakers singing that dreaded song. After the fifth or sixth time, Nick had become sort of conditioned to the song, able to push it away as background noise until it started up again. Then it would be back to nagging at him for a few lines before he pushed it away once again. It was a vicious cycle but thankfully he thought they were almost done. Open and shut case, right? No need to stay around to take statements, fingerprints, and DNA. They'd collect from the two suspects and be on their way with the evidence. He dropped another bindle into an evidence bag and picked up another swab when the lyrics once again force their way to the front of his mind.

_In her room after New Years at the Thunderbird Hotel  
On the back of a winning keno card they found this living will  
My friends get all my money -- may they always have enough  
To my enemies I leave my luck -- only maybe not quite so tough  
The dealers get my "bones" -- may they keep 'em on a roll  
The Devil's had my body, now may the Good Lord take my soul  
So do not try to find me, for I will not be found_

He swallowed hard, trying desperately to fight back the emotions and memories that flooded his mind. After singing that song over and over in the coffin, those lines had finally gotten to him. That's what prompted him to speak into the tape recorder, saying his last good-byes to those that meant the most. That's when he had realized that he would end up staying buried in an unmarked grave, his family and friends always wondering what had become of him.

And those had been the lines going through his head as the ants continued to eat him alive. And they were the lines he'd been singing in his head when the fan had gone off, when he'd taken his gun and … Nick stood up abruptly, ripping off his gloves, unzipping his vest and unbuttoning the first two buttons of his shirt. He suddenly felt like he couldn't breath, like he was too constricted. Anger bubbled within him, anger that he barely kept restrained when all he wanted to do was lash out.

The music died and for an instance everything was blessedly silent. He could hear his ragged breaths, could hear how his heart pounded in his ears, but other than that, there was nothing. He started to relax. Finally, a reprieve. But then the music started up once again and there was no controlling the raging beast inside of him.

He kicked the barstool in front on him, sending it crashing into the wall, rattling the glass bottle on the shelves and upsetting his kit on its way. He let out a yell of frustration as he gave his kit another swift kick before he turned on the rookie cop standing in the corner.

"Will somebody shut this fuckin' music off?!" he screamed. And without waiting for and answer, he headed out the back door of the bar, giving the cop posted there a rough shove to the side. Stepping out into the alley way he tried vainly to draw in breath. By now his whole body was shaking, he was raging and barely keeping the tears in check. "Oh god," he gasped. He hunched over, his hands on his knees as his dinner made an ungraceful reappearance on the cement.

* * *

Warrick had been lost in thought, lost in the rhythm of processing that he'd barely noticed the passing of an hour. The music, while at first grating on his nerves, had all but faded to white noise in the background. He blocked it all out, he'd always been able too. So he wasn't prepared when Nick suddenly jumped up from his spot, tugging at his clothing as if it were trying to strangle him. For a sickening moment, Warrick thought he'd been bitten and was having a reaction. But then he saw Nick relax. He sighed almost in unison with Nick, finally glad to see that Nick had sorted himself out. He'd watch the many unstable emotions that flitted across the man's face. Whatever he'd been working through, it seemed as if he'd finally reached the end of the tunnel.

So he started to turn back to his work, relieved, until the barstool when flying. The shelves lined with bottles of expensive alcohol shuddered and clanged, the sounds reverberating around the small room. Then Nick gave the metal case a swift kick, hard earned evidence and expensive equipment flying across the room. And he'd watched in frozen horror as Nick rounded on one cop, then the other before he disappeared.

Finally regaining his feet, Warrick ripped of his gloves and followed him out the door. When he emerged into the alley it was to see Nick hunched over puking his guts out. _Oh god Nicky, what happened _was all he could think. Walking over silently, he laid his hand on the small of Nick's back, gently rubbing small circles. "Easy Nick. Just take deep breaths." He didn't know what else to say, didn't know what would set the man off again or what kind of reaction he would get.

Nick jerked away from the touch as soon as he got his bearings once again. Anger was still the emotion closest to the top so he stuck with that. He moved away from Warrick, he didn't want to be placated, he wanted to vent. So he did the only thing he could think of, he turned and slammed his fist as hard as he could into the brick wall in front of him. Belatedly he felt the pain, but it felt distant, just like Warrick's voice screaming his name was distant. At least it was until a hand grabbed his arm, then the world came rushing back to him in a hurry.

"Get the fuck off me!" he screamed and tried to pull away, but Warrick was having none of it. Instead, he wrapped his arm tighter around the man, pinning his body between the wall and himself.

"No Nicky. Not until you tell me what the hell that was all about!" Warrick didn't want to butt heads with Nick, not when he was like this because there were never any winners, just a bloody tie. But he couldn't help it. When he was worried it tended to come out as anger and the fact that he had no idea what was going on with Nick at that moment scared the shit out of him. That he'd admit to willingly. He'd just witnessed his lover slamming his fist into a wall, he'd heard the bones snap and pop. Yeah, he was fucking scared shitless.

"What's going on with you." When Nick tried to pull away again, Warrick gave him a rough shove, Nick's head banging lightly with the wall. "Hey! What the hell set you off? What would make you destroy a crime scene and assault a cop? What were you thinking when you just tried to punch a whole in a brick wall?" Still silence met him. Not even those dark eyes would lock with his, but he could still see the maelstrom of warring emotions. Anger and sarcasm weren't going to help this time.

"Hey, Nicky. Talk to me, man. You have to tell me what's going on or we can't work through it." His voice softened and as he spoke, he could see the anger melting away. Now there was a look of pure disgust shining back at Warrick when Nick locked gazes with him.

"I'm sick of working through it Rick." He tried to keep the anger in his voice but he suddenly didn't have the energy. He slumped in Warrick's grasp, cradling his broken hand to his chest as the pain finally broke through the barrier. "I don't think I can keep doing it. I just can't …"

"Don't talk like that, man. We'll get through it, okay. Just- you have to tell me what's going on in that thick head of yours." Warrick ducked his head so he was level with Nick, a small smile tugging at his lips despite his concern. "How about telling me why you hesitated to go into the scene?"

Nick swallowed convulsively before he looked away, his eyes sliding down to look at the cement rather than his lover's eyes. "Okay, how about why you started to have a panic attack in there?" Still no answer though Warrick could see he was touching a nerve by the way Nick's hands trembled at his sides. "Why did you freak out in there, man?" That did it. Those eyes snapped back to Warrick, another one of those desperate growls escaping Nick's throat as he pulled harshly away.

"Like you'd ever understand!" Nick paced the width of the alley, his arm still cradled to his chest. Warrick couldn't help but notice how much like a caged animal Nick looked at that moment. But the thought didn't give him any amusement. Instead it broke his heart to realize just how broken Nick really was, how far his beautiful man had fallen, how his trust in others and himself had slipped through his grasp and shattered, never to be replaced.

"You're right, I can't understand Nick. I wish to god I could, but I can't." He knew it might be a bad idea but he stepped in front of Nick, his hands landing on the smaller man's shoulders. He waited a moment until Nick looked up at him. "Help me understand, Nicky."

A tear slipped from Nick's eye, just one. Then another. And then another before Nick pressed his face into Warrick's shoulder. "It's the song." The words were muffled and barely audible, but Warrick heard them.

"What about it, Nick?"

Nick sniffled and Warrick just pulled his arms tighter around the man. "I was listening to it on the way to the scene." Warrick didn't even have to question it anymore. It was _the_ scene, the one that turned their lives to hell in an instant. "And then I sang it … while I was- it was the only thing to keep my mind off everything." Nick let out a sob. "I sang it as loud as I could when I thought I heard you guys coming for me, but it was only the ants…"

"Oh Nicky," Warrick kissed Nick's temple in reassurance. He had no other words for the man because no platitudes were true. It wasn't okay and they weren't all right. The situation sucked and it wasn't over despite the menacing force behind it all being dead. It would never be over for Nick. There would always be something to trigger a memory, the therapist had told them that. It would get easier over time, but it would never go away. "Shhh, you're safe now. We'll get through this I promise. I said I'd never let you go through this alone, and I won't. Shhh, babe."

Nick nodded his head against Warrick as he tried to get his emotions under control. He knew there were other things that they needed to deal with at the moment, like a destroyed crime scene. But at the moment he couldn't find it in himself to care. He was wrapped tightly in Warrick's arms, Warrick's soft murmuring voice whispering in his ear, and Warrick's staccato heart beating in time with his. So he drew a deep breath and pressed deeper into the arms where he knew he was safe, even if was only for a few more moments.


End file.
